


Unsung

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Silmarillion Prompts [17]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (of the sort that you think of as love until you experience actual love yknow), Accidental heartbreaker Maglor, Artistic rivalry, Crushes, Elven teenage angst, First Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Finrod/Maglor, "Call me"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsung

“Findaráto!” Someone hammered at his door and Findaráto retreated further into his room. The doorknob rattled. “Findaráto, for Eru’s sake, stop being such a child.” The voice was impatient, but still lilting and melodic, a fact that caused Findaráto to clench his teeth and his fists in renewed frustration.

“Go  _away_.”

“Why are you so angry?”

Findaráto had to hold himself back from throwing something at the closed door. It was just typical that he, who was  _known_  for his even temper and sunny disposition, could get absolutely enraged at the person everyone insisted on describing as gentle and approachable.

Hah.

Findaráto knew how approachable he was, all right. All too approachable, and appealing, and then he’d turn on you, undermine you, like the insufferable  _ass_  - 

“Look, I didn’t think you’d take it that badly.”

Findaráto spun around and stalked over to the door, pressing his hands to it as he shouted through the wood, “How could I not take it badly? It was my first public recital, my entire family was there, and you - you - ” To his furious shame, he could hear tears rising in his voice. He was of age now, he should be better at controlling himself. “You  _humiliated_  me.”

The person on the other side of the door fell silent. “I…I didn’t realize.”

Findaráto leaned his forehead to the door, suddenly exhausted. “You didn’t realize? Of course not. You are far too wrapped up in yourself for that.” And he’d been an idiot, for not realizing it sooner. 

“I didn’t mean to mock you,” said the voice, gentle now, and very quiet. “I thought it might be interesting to take your composition, and…improvise a bit.”

“And how do you think it made me feel,” said Findaráto, low and miserable, “to have you take the composition I labored months over, and play it flawlessly, like a country ditty, and then spin it into something so much…so much  _better_ ….” His disappointment and humiliation choked him then, and he slid down the door, unable to go on. The door rattled again, and then there was a click and it opened slightly, pushing against him. He scooted over wordlessly, and buried his head in his arms, not looking up as his cousin slipped into the room.

“Curvo taught me to pick locks,” said Makalaurë apologetically, and sat down beside Findaráto. Findaráto didn’t answer him. “Ingoldo,” he laid a tentative hand on Findaráto’s shoulder, “I truly didn’t mean to shame you. It was a lovely piece. It inspired me.”

“Oh, and that’s the highest compliment I could receive, isn’t it,” said Findaráto bitterly. Honestly, how Makalurë of all people could make him so peevish and petulant he would never understand. 

Makalaurë smoothed Findaráto’s hair away from his flushed face. “Well, it’s not a low compliment.” 

“You love to belittle me.”

Makalaurë looked astonished. “I do not!”

“Ever you take what is important to me and make it small.”

Makalaurë opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it. He grimaced slightly. “This is about last year.”

“No.”

“It is.”

“Well, of COURSE it is!”

“I didn’t realize your feelings were so strong!” protested Makalaurë feebly. “And you were so young, I didn’t want to take undue advantage, and - ”

“And you laughed at me.”

“I was surprised, is all.”

“Oh, forget it,” Findaráto sighed, wiping impatiently at his cheeks. “I should know better than to try and explain anything of import to you. You don’t care.”

“If I didn’t care,” said Makalaurë quietly, “I wouldn’t have followed you here.”

Findaráto didn’t answer.

“I wouldn’t have called your name up and down the streets of Tirion as I searched for you.”

Findaráto exhaled heavily, knowing he was relenting, and leaned slightly against Makalaurë’s side. Makalaurë put an arm around his shoulder. “You’re very good,” he whispered, into Findaráto’s hair. “Maybe I unconsciously try to shame you because I am insecure that you will supplant me.”

“Liar. You fear no such thing.”

“Maybe not,” Makalaurë admitted, and despite himself, Findaráto lifted his head and turned towards him. Their lips met once, light and chaste. Findaráto’s eyes fluttered closed, and he felt Makalaurë brush long fingers over his cheekbones.

Then they broke apart, and Findaráto sank back against the wall with a sigh. “We are never going to work, are we,” he said, to no one in particular.

“Maybe not,” said Makalaurë, and looked momentarily and eloquently sad. “But,” he added, as Findaráto dropped his head onto his shoulder. “I tell you no lies, Findaráto. You  _are_  very good.”

“But not good enough,” said Findaráto, and Makalaurë did not disagree. 


End file.
